


A month is a long time, my dear

by neverweremine



Category: Tintin - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 05:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20961161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverweremine/pseuds/neverweremine
Summary: It's been a month since Tintin's visited Marlinspike Hall.





	A month is a long time, my dear

**Author's Note:**

> So this kind of an apology for those waiting for me to update The Interview. I said I'd update it every Saturday and then ... didn't. So sorry! Anyways, the reason I didn't update that was because I'm doing Inktober, and then after that I'm planning to do Nanowrimo so the next time I'll update The Interview will probably be December - but don't worry I'll do it. I'll finish it!
> 
> In the meanwhile, please take this! Also thanks to everyone who read, kudos, and commented on The Interview. This fandom is so small, I was kind of worried I'd be writing to crickets. Anyway, story time.

"If I can be so bold, sir, perhaps a walk around the chateau is in order? You've lounged inside for long enough.

No response.

"It might do you some good."

A grunt.

"Sir-"

Haddock's hand shot out and grasped Nestor's wrist. The unopened bottle of Loch Lomond in the butler's hand shed dust with the. Haddock couldn't meet the other's gaze as he begged, "Please."

"A walk will clear your head." Nestor said as he freed himself. He exited the room, bottle in hand, leaving his master alone once more.

Haddock sighed. The old man was right. He stood, ignoring the crack of his knees and the ache in his back. Yes, a walk around the grounds could be nice. Better than staring at an empty chair all day.

.

A month. It had been a month since the boy last visited Marlinspike Hall, and with each new morning Haddock dreaded he'd never see him again, or listen to the click-clack of his typing again, or inhale his sunshine and dirt scent. Never experience an impromptu adventure again, or pleasant claps on the back, or lips-

If only Tintin left something behind. Something special. Oh, his typewriter still sat in the study and his clothes still hung in the guest bedroom's wardrobe, but those were insubstantial things. Haddock had once seen Tintin part with a gifted golden watch for a disguise. The boy would donate his entire income for a good cause. Clothes and souvenirs, typewriters and expensive gifts; Tintin could replace.

But if the dog had stayed… If Snowy had stayed, then Haddock needn't worry of Tintin's return. The boy never abandoned Snowy, not even across enemy lines, but the hall was devoid of white fur or squeaking barks; all the items that could lead Tintin back to Marlinspike Hall: gone. Tintin: gone.

.

Haddock stopped in front of a familiar tree. The one they'd sat under not a month ago: low, clustered branches, a thick trunk that even the largest of men could not wrap their arms around, and roots that tangled underfoot. He scowled and cursed his traitorous feet for leading him here. The sly bastards wanted to remind him of his failure, no doubt. Well, he'd not let them.

With a roar, Haddock stomped forward and kicked the tree with every ounce of strength in his possession. The leaves rustled. Irate birds chirped at him in high-pitched tones. The tree remained standing as it did for decades, leaving the Captain with nothing but a hurt foot.

"Billions of bilious blue blistering barnacles!" He grabbed his foot, a sharp throb radiating from his toes outward. Damn tree. He hopped around, red-faced and howling curses until a root tripped him up. A smack met him for his troubles and he willed himself up before slumping there; defeated. His nose and chin hurt, his mouth was full of dirt; this was a far cry from his last experience under this tree. The last time-

_Soft cheeks under his rough hand. Thin lips against his. So soft and berry-sweet. Is this what heaven tastes like?_

Haddock wrenched himself off the ground. He didn't deserve to think such things unless in repent. What had he been thinking, plopping one on Tintin like that? It had to be the tree's fault. The tree, and the spring air, and the way the light had shone through the leaves; caressing Tintin's cheek. Yes, it was the tree's fault he kissed Tintin. It was the tree's fault that the lad hadn't returned.

No, he could not go forward blaming inanimate objects. It had been his selfish actions that chased Tintin away. And the worst part was that he wasn't even drunk! If he had been drunk he'd have an excuse; something to explain the absence of sense, the way he leapt the lad mid-sentence. Except, he'd been sober as a minute-old babe and all that proved was that he was an impulsive old fool - drunk or not - and that's not even the worst worse of it because the most damning thing; beyond the forced kiss, beyond the sobriety, beyond the damn tree-

Because the most damning thing was, for the longest time after, he swore Tintin had reciprocated. That there had been returning pressure on his mouth, hands bracing themselves on his arms, a flush on the boy's cheeks after they parted. He could've sworn that his fantasies, the thoughts he reserved only for the twilight hours, had come true. But the kiss had lasted not a minute, and he had shocked even himself with his impulsiveness. He must've shocked himself into delusional daydreaming as well.

And afterward, they had not exchanged a single word walking back to the chateau. Tintin must've been furious with him or too disgusted to speak. He couldn't blame the boy in either scenario. Although… he swore as they walked back, it was as if shared one space: Tintin's shoulders brushing his, their knuckles bumping with each step. The Thompsons sprung on them the minute they stepped back inside and neither dared mention the kiss in mixed company. But at the time he thought Tintin didn't mind. That he...

Tintin was gone by morning. He had taken Haddock's offer for an overnight stay, and then dawn came and there had been no reporter at the breakfast table or exercising on the patio. When asked, Nestor relayed it as such: Tintin had to leave on an impromptu trip following a lead in the night. Not the first time it's happened. Nestor reassured him it wouldn't be the last, and like a fool - a delusional, impulsive old fool - Haddock believed him.

Then a week passed. And then another. And now it's been a month, and how foolish was he? Waiting around Marlinspike Hall thinking the lad will return to him and settle in his arms, greeting the Captain with a kiss and snuggling in close. Thinking that, one day, Tintin will call this place 'home', too. Foolish.

It's been a month. Since Haddock bought his old ancestral home, Tintin has never stayed this long away, even with his news ventures pulling him continents away. He'd have at least sent a missive by now, explaining his absence. Only a month, and Haddock was reduced to kicking trees. Pathetic.

.

Nestor was waiting for him when he finished his walk. "Sir, the mail has arrived. I've placed it on the-"

Haddock passed him without a glance. A week and a half ago, he would've been tearing the mail apart for any signs of Tintin's return. Now, he knew better. Tintin was never coming back, and it was his fault.

* * *

"Perhaps a ride in the town car will do you better," suggested Nestor, six days later. The scene was familiar, an unopened bottle of whiskey in front of him, an empty chair across.

Haddock shook his head. He knew if he took the car into town, akin to his traitorous feet, his driving will only lead to one place: Labrador Road. He wanted to see if he'd truly lost his marbles. If Tintin had taken an extended trip over waters as he often did, or… if Tintin had since returned and stood there now, in his little apartment writing up his article and having a fine life without the Captain mucking everything up.

"... and cabbages."

"Huh?"

"For your trip to the market," Nestor explained, ever patient. "We need onions, carrots, and cabbages."

Something metallic pressed itself against Haddock's palm. Numb fingers curled around the town car's keys. He stared dumbly at the butler.

"Shall I write a list for you, sir, or do I trust you'll remember it?"

"Onions. Carrots. Cabbages," Haddock repeated, more live-in parrot than a person under Nestor's gaze.

"Very good, sir. I suggest you not put this off. I hear it will rain tomorrow, and these ingredients are needed for tomorrow's dinner." With a deferential bow, as if he hadn't sent Haddock out on a menial errand, the butler departed.

The key in his hand was heavy. There laid an itch in him, a snarling itch stating he should go straight to Tintin's apartment and find out the truth. But if Tintin was there, avoiding him, who was he to show up unannounced?

_The market,_ he told himself as he rose to his feet. _I'm only going to the market._ He repeated himself to the car and on the roads until the letters mixed and the words jumbled and the sentence lost all meaning. He had to course correct several times, but after several detours he made it. The market. The relief he felt at accomplishing this simple task made his knees weak.

Problem was, once he got there, he realized he'd forgotten the items he came here for, so occupied with his mantra. Did Nestor want cucumbers? No, something else. Grapes? No, he was sure the butler asked him for vegetables. Haddock dawdled between stalls, his eyes scanning the produce on sale between passing strangers. Spinach? No. Oh, if only he remembered-

"Thank you, madam."

Haddock froze. That voice.

A bark. A familiar voice over his shoulder. One he thought he'd never hear so near again. "Snowy, slow down. I'm trying to buy these apples."

"Paper! Paper! Read all about-" Haddock rushed to the newsboy stood between two stalls and handed him the change. No sooner had the coins left his hand did the old sailor snatch a newspaper from the pile, opening it over his face. Right on time too, for Tintin passed by him soon after, humming a diddy. Haddock stumbled to the opposite side of the street. He needed to gain distance, to find an exit. He needed-

Haddock needed to see Tintin again. Once he was across the street, he leaned himself against a wall and lowered the paper past his eyes. His breath caught as he saw him. He was there, near the newspaper stand, orange in hand and a bag of groceries nestled in the crook of his arm. He was smiling, and he was healthy and he looked the same as he did a month ago, his hair still cut short, his stroll the same -

And it was then Haddock's heart bottomed out. What if there had been no trip? What if it had been an excuse Tintin conjured up, something to tell the butler as he fled Marlinspike Hall? What if Tintin had been on Labrador Road this entire time and did not visit the old Captain for fear of another attack on his person. Yes, there could be no other explanation. Here Tintin was, a month later, with a jolly hop to his step. No signs of dissatisfaction; of missing something left in the dust.

_I should apologize,_ Haddock thought. He wanted to apologize, beg forgiveness, get on his hands and knees right there in the market until Tintin forgave him as the lad did since their first encounter. He took a step forward. And then another. His brain urged him to rethink, but he realized too late that his feet were taking control.

He was headed towards Tintin like a train off a cliff when their eyes met. Snowy. Snowy had spotted him, even with the newspaper covering half his face. Haddock stopped in the middle of the road. People swerved around his frozen form, a few giving him rude looks at his sudden stop. He didn't care. His eyes traced the rapid swing of Snowy's tail from left to right.

"No," he whispered.

Snowy's tail wagged faster. Haddock tensed. Snowy started barking. Haddock threw all precautions to the wind and booked it. The barking got louder. "Snowy, what has gotten into you?"

As if a criminal, Haddock ran away, the newspaper left somewhere on the pavement behind him and, as if on a hunt for a criminal, Snowy chased after. Haddock's first thoughts of escape is his car. He dismissed it out of hand. If Tintin got even a tiny glimpse at the car, he'd recognize it. He'd have to be fast then. Fast and extremely lucky.

People ducked out of his way, Snowy's barks serving as a good warning. Shouts followed him but Haddock paid no heed. He zigged left past a merchant selling caged birds, then dashed towards an alleyway dotted with hanging clothes. Behind him Snowy still barked loud and clear, and so he ducked right into another alley. A few more twists and turns and even Haddock no longer knew where he was.

He stopped at the steps of a fire escape. He's out of breath, a regrettable byproduct of sitting in a chair for a month but he didn't dare sit. The distinct sound of a dog's paws hitting the cobblestone path slowed to a stop. Haddock put his hands over his panting mouth and measured his breaths. Snowy whined.

Haddock grinned.

"Snowy, bad dog." Tintin scolded. "What was that?"

Snowy's claws scratched against the ground.

"I'll never have time to prepare for tomorrow if you keep this up." With that, Tintin moved away, their footsteps growing distant. Haddock uncovered his mouth and an explosive gust of air burst forth. Tomorrow? What was happening tomorrow? Is he going somewhere? What could be more important than visiting him? Than visiting Marlinspike Hall?

Haddock slipped out of the alleyway and watched as their backs became smaller and smaller. He reached out his hand, mouth opened. _He doesn't want to see you,_ his mind reminded him. The arm lowered, and they vanished; returned to the market. It was for the best. Haddock forced himself to turn and find a long way round to the parking lot. When he got there, his hands shook pulling out the keys. In fact, his whole body shook. Must've been the sudden adrenaline from the chase, he reasoned. Nothing more.

* * *

Later, when Nestor commented on Haddock's quick return and empty hands, Haddock stated he'd gotten lost.

"A shame. I suppose I could scrounge something up for tomorrow, but it won't be as filling-"

"Whatever you have."

"Are you sure? We don't have much-"

"It doesn't matter," interrupted Haddock.

"As you say, sir."

None of it mattered, Haddock mused as he climbed under the covers that late afternoon. Whether or not he changed into his sleepwear, whether he drank, whether he went outside - without Tintin, these acts had no meaning. A part of him, the rough and tough sea sailor, raged against these new 'facts of life', calling him a no-good, lily-livered melodramatic operatic singer. Haddock simply viewed his subconscious' try at rallying him as another thing that didn't matter and pulled the covers over his head.

* * *

If it were up to him, Haddock would've stayed in his room forever. Nestor had other plans. The Captain awoke to an insistent knocking on his door.

"Sir, it's time for breakfast," Nestor called.

"Not hungry," Haddock groused. His stomach growled at him, but he growled louder. He waited, but no other knocking came, and so he settled back into sleep. Yes, if he stayed here…

.

Another round of knocking. By this time, Haddock had resorted to covering his face with a pillow to shield himself from the sunlight. He groaned, arms lifting to press the pillow against his ears.

"Sir, you have a guest."

"Tell them I'm not here."

"They insist on seeing you."

"Tell them I've died."

Silence. Haddock drew his arms to his sides.

"Sir, if I may be so bold, this avoidance is ridiculous. I'm entering." The door squeaked open and Haddock had to repress the urge to whine. He may be a pathetic whelp of a man, but he liked to think he kept at least a shred of dignity.

That notion flew away once Nestor removed the pillow from his head. "Thundering Typhoons, are you trying t' blind me with a laser beam, Nestor?"

"It's called 'the sun', sir, and no, I'm merely trying to wake you. It's late."

Haddock threw his arms over his face. "How late?"

"Ten 'till noon, sir."

"Oh, that's not that late."

He tugged his blanket upwards but a forceful pull had them pooling around his ankles. Face a perfect picture of impartiality but voice hardening to a steel rod, Nestor said, "May I remind you you have a guest downstairs? They've been seated for a while now and it's impolite to keep them waiting."

Haddock grumbled but swung his feet off the bed. "Okay, I'm up. You happy now?"

Nestor's face remained unmoved. "Ecstatic, sir. We'll be waiting for you in the parlor room."

_"We'll be waiting for you in the parlor room,_" Haddock mocked after the door closed. He scowled at the discarded socks and shoes at the foot of his bed. "I bet it's that door-to-door salesman again. No good, money-grubbing-" He sighed. Getting to his feet, the Captain took a second to steady himself from a bout of lightheadedness. After recovering, he eyed the bathroom door and then the closet at length. Both washing and dressing required such effort, of which the thought alone drained him of energy. He then eyed the bed. As pushy as Nestor was, and as displeased as he'd be, he was still Haddock's employee. If Haddock instructed the old chap to leave him be, Nestor would comply.

After a minute of deliberation, Haddock trudged towards the door. If this guest wanted to meet him, then meet him they shall. A straight-out-of-bed, grumpy him. See if this guest ever came by and interrupted his sleep again. Haddock strolled into the parlor grumbling and then blinked. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He pinched his arm and when nothing changed he pinched his cheek.

"Oh Captain, there you are," Tintin closed his book and set it aside. He was sat in the chair - his chair - across from Haddock's own, and was smiling. Tintin stood and walked towards Haddock with nary a furrow in his brow or frown on his face. He looked real. More than that, he looked handsomer than usual. Where yesterday, Tintin wore his usual blue sweater and plus fours, today Tintin had a smooth pale blue button-down, fitting tan pants - and though he was sure the shoes were the same - they shone with polish.

Meanwhile, Haddock stood, morning grit in his eyes, teeth unbrushed, still in yesterday's rumpled outerwear, no doubt stinking to high heaven. He had no doubts Tintin's seen him in worse conditions - at least he wasn't nursing a hangover or drunk as a skunk this time - but those moments of self-indulgent revelry had long since passed. It had been five weeks since their last encounter, and with Tintin looking so handsome, and the way that encounter ended -

Oh no, he was coming closer.

"Are you well, Captain? Nestor said you were feeling under the weather." A hand reached out to touch his forehead. Conscious of the crawling sensation on his skin and his greasy hair, Haddock backed away.

"I'm fine," he said. Oh, good lord, the stench from his breath watered even Haddock's eyes. What had he been thinking, leaving his room in this condition? Backpedaling out of the parlor, Haddock pointed behind him. "I've just remembered I have to- there's- I need-" Tintin's brows dipped in confusion. "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back!" Haddock dashed up the stairs.

Fifteen minutes later, having brushed his teeth while showering, combed his hair, and dried off, Haddock now stared at the innards of his closet. Would the red suit jacket be overdoing it? Tintin had dressed up but he didn't want to overdress. The button-down? The weather was perfect for it and he and Tintin could match. Yes, and if he wore those white pants-

Bah, what was he thinking? This wasn't a date. Tintin was a visiting guest who'd waited long enough as is. What if he got impatient? What if he left? Grabbing a familiar blue sweater and black pants, Haddock got changed and rushed downstairs.

When he returned to the parlor, chest heaving, it was to Tintin sat in his chair and reading his book. Haddock thanked the heavens for this small mercy. He then collected himself and walked into the room as if nothing was amiss. "I'm sorry for before, my dear fellow, I wasn't expecting you. If I had known you were coming, I would've prepared something." Or at the very least, washed before greeting you.

Tintin waved him away. "It's fine, Captain. I'm sorry I didn't warn you sooner. I thought my letter arrived before me, but I suppose it is a long way."

"L-letter?"

"Yes, I sent you a letter two weeks prior from Alaska. It should've arrived here a few days ago." A few days ago. Better known as the time he stopped checking his mail in a fit. Oh dear. And from Alaska? So Tintin had left on a trip. Of course he had. How could Haddock have ever doubted that? Tintin wasn't one to lie. He was an honest fellow through and through. Yes, two weeks ago he'd been in a foreign country and now…

Now a thousand possibilities crept up like seaweed tangling into rotor blades. Soon, he'd have to untangle these weeds, these vines of uncertainty and hope, but he didn't want to think of those implications now with Tintin in front of him, and so he pushed those thoughts for later.

"It must've gotten lost."

"Must've." Haddock agreed. He reminded himself to check his mail later.

Nestor entered the room then, a large folded red and white checkered cloth in his hands. "The item you requested, sir."

"Thank you, Nestor," Tintin said, as he accepted the cloth.

"Have fun, sirs."

"We will."

Nestor departed without explanation. Haddock watched as he left, then turned to Tintin. Tintin, who had a basket in one hand and the cloth bundled under his arm. Haddock felt as if he'd missed a pertinent conversation while upstairs. "You're having a picnic?"

"No, _we're_ having a picnic." At the Captain's shocked silence, Tintin's cheeks grew rosy and his confident tone transformed into a stutter. "That is… If you… Nestor told me you didn't have breakfast, and it's lunch time, and the weather's wonderful, and so I thought-" Tintin lifted the basket in explanation.

"It's a great idea!" Haddock exclaimed, if only to wipe that uncertain look from Tintin's face. How sweet of the lad to organize. It made something in Haddock both ease and ache terribly. "Here, let me carry the basket."

Tintin's face cleared. "Thank you, Captain."

"No problem, lad. Any idea where we'll have this outdoor brunch?"

"Yes, follow me."

Haddock followed Tintin out the back and onto a well-trodden path. Through the whole walk, they were silent, though judging by Tintin's humming, it was a happy silence on his part. On the other end, Haddock couldn't help but feel a sense of wrongness. Something was off about Tintin. Missing. Something physical. What was it? The clothes? They were strange, but not so strange. The lad was enjoying the spring weather. His humming? No, he hummed yesterday too… What-

"Snowy!" Haddock shouted. He whipped his head towards Tintin. "Snowy, where is he?"

The lad stumbled in his step, his humming coming to a sharp stop. He stared at the captain, his mouth in a round 'o' before a crooked grin spread over his mouth. "Snowy?" He laughed. "He's with the Thompsons. Why do you ask?"

Haddock's cheeks reddened but he couldn't help but share Tintin's humor at his alarm. "Why do I ask? You never part ways with him. Excuse me for worrying when I don't see the mutt around."

"Oh, he's fine. More than fine, really. Yesterday he went off chasing something at the market and when I asked him what it was, all he could do was whine. I think he was off after cats again."

The Captain trained his gaze on the ground. "Is that so?"

"Yes. I nearly dropped my groceries chasing after him. Oh, here we are." Haddock lifted his eyes to find Tintin heading towards … the cursed tree. He gaped. Did Tintin do this on purpose? Was he trying to- No, he wouldn't. It was only practical. The tree had the best shade on the entire grounds-

Or did he forget? With such a hectic existence as Tintin's; a small kiss was nothing. Forgettable. Did Tintin have the good grace to pretend to forget for his sake? Should he do the same? The proverbial rotor was getting choked out and Haddock along with it.

"This looks nice," Tintin stated, a satisfied curl to his lips, hands on his hips as he overlooked the territory he blanketed in red and white. Tintin turned and their eyes met and Haddock became enraptured: the spring air, the lad's smile, the light shining from the branches playing shadows on the lad's face; these factors conspired against him, painting the perfect still life. Tintin jerked his head to the blanket. "Come, Captain. Set the basket on the ground and sit."

Haddock did as Tintin told. He sat a few feet away from where the lad stood, putting the basket between them like a shield. Of course, Tintin ignored it entirely, walking around the picnic basket to sit at Haddock's side. While Tintin opened the basket, he scooted a few inches further away. Then he caught sight of the food. His mouth began watering as Tintin placed containers filled with sandwiches, muffins, shish kabobs, ravioli and-

"Oh, is that pie?" Haddock asked as Tintin pulled out a circular dish covered in tinfoil.

"Yes. Apple pie."

"My favorite!" He tore off the tinfoil and touched his fingers to the crust. Oh, still warm. His stomach let out a loud growl.

Tintin pressed a knife in his hand and he cut the pie into eighths before dislodging one slice. "I need-" A plate appeared before him. "You're a lifesaver, old man."

"I try." Tintin passed over a fork.

Appetite blazing, Haddock dug in. The apple pie crumbled in his mouth, but the texture was firm, and the crust was to die for. They ate in silence, the Captain too ravenous to focus on the pesky things that had riddled his mind for a month. He had a taste of the pie, sandwiches, and a few tasty muffins before he realized _things_. _Things_ being how close Tintin sat next to him, their knees brushing, and how under the aroma of well-cooked food there was this scent. Thick and concentrated, but not what he would call dreadful. Not what he would call tasty either. Haddock began holding the opened containers to his nose and while each food had a concentrated aroma, it wasn't what the one from earlier. Odd. Was it him? The only other options were either him or-

"Is something wrong, Captain? Is the food not to your taste?"

"No, the food is well attuned to my tastes." As expected from Nestor. "Say, can you hand me those napkins?"

After taking a quick sniff while Tintin grabbed the napkin near the other side of his hip, Haddock confirmed it. Yes, the thick scent was coming from Tintin. Tintin who smelled of dust and dirt and sunshine on an average day. Tintin; who today decided to dress up and wear cologne.

A memory surfaced from yesterday. Yes, didn't Tintin have something important to do today? Haddock swallowed around the muffin in his throat. "Say, Tintin?'

"Yes, Captain?" Tintin asked as he licked the apple filling from his fingers. Oh dear, Neptune. Haddock focused on the ground in front of him. He grabbed an orange near his foot. Yes, it had been better when his mind occupied itself with food instead of his surroundings. He began peeling it.

"Don't you have somewhere to be today, laddie?"

"No, I'm free the whole day. I'm sorry, did you have important plans today?"

"No. Was curious, that's all." So he had no plans, but he was wearing cologne and dressed up nice. Was visiting Haddock his only plan for the day? Now that he brought it closer, the orange in his hand did summon a sense of familiarity ...

He was thinking nonsense. Tintin's earlier designs must've fallen through; nothing more. He couldn't have planned this: the tree, the clothes, the food, the spring air whispering in his ear,_ Do it. Do it. You know you want to_. Haddock popped an orange slice into his mouth, letting the tangy juiciness exploding over his tongue override the memory of soft lips. He'd been halfway done with the orange when Tintin let out a soft 'oh'. Haddock watched as a single drop of water fell upon the boy's nose. And then another, and another-

"It's raining," Tintin stated. The sky had become overcast with rain clouds. It hadn't darkened so much, and after years on the sea, Haddock doubted a thunderstorm's approach. He lifted a hand, and two drops fell into his palm, then five, then ten. He turned to Tintin, who stared at the sky with a frown.

"It's a spring shower," Haddock stated. "Nothing to worry about, old fellow. It'll pass in an hour or two. We can-"

"Then you think we could stay outside?"

Haddock gaped. "Outside? You want a picnic in the rain? Even a light storm like this can make you sick, laddie."

"Not if you stay dry," Tintin argued. He stood, hand held out, catching raindrops in his palm. He moved closer to the tree's trunk and waved his hands around cautiously. After one round around the tree and copious hand waving, he faced the Captain, a triumphant grin on his face. "It's dry here, Captain. Even if the rain gets thicker, the branches will protect us." Tintin walked back, hands curling around the basket handle. He paused. This close Haddock could count the boy's freckles. Thundering typhoons, even in the shadows he was too beautiful to bear.

"What do you say, Captain?" Tintin asked, "Shall we continue on?"

Haddock knew the choice was his. Tintin would not argue if he decided they brave the light rain and end the picnic, and Haddock wanted to because the tree was cursed and he alone with Tintin doubly so - but Tintin's eyes lit upon him hopefully and the drizzle made the world softer, made the boy's voice a whispered plea instead of an innocent question; and Haddock strived to never disappoint him.

"Fine, but if we get sick, it's on you!" And Tintin had smiled so wide that it was worth it, despite the unease stirring in the captain's gut.

They moved the picnic back a few feet and sat with their backs against the trunk of the tree for greater coverage. Unfortunately, with so many gnarled roots stemming from the tree's base, finding a comfortable seat was difficult. They ended up sitting together in a small dip crested by large roots, side pressed to side from shoulder to thighs - and as Tintin settled in and served himself some ravioli, Haddock had to control his heartbeat. Soon, he reminded himself, their stomachs will fill or the rain will lighten and they'd return to the chateau. Soon everything will return to normal. Haddock gorged himself to distract his wandering thoughts, watching as raindrops dampened the outer edges of the blanket.

The rain had a magical effect. Its rhythm soothed Haddock's muscles and it created an effective curtain between the past and the present, skipping the bits from last month over as if they had never happened. Soon Tintin was regaling him over his mishap of losing Snowy in the Alaskan snow and Haddock was countering with a snowball fight competition from his youth that ended in a battle that would put even ol' Francis Haddock to shame.

* * *

"Captain?" Tintin said after their stories had dried into a comfortable silence.

"Yes, laddie?"

A fork hovered in between them. "Open up; you haven't had a bite of the ravioli yet."

"Wh-"

The fork Tintin held to Haddock's mouth inserted itself. On instinct Haddock's teeth clenched on the fork and Tintin slowly glided it out. "So, how is it?"

Tomato sauce burst over Haddock's taste buds along with chewy pasta and a small bitter mix. He nodded and murmured, "It's good." Now hyper-aware of their closeness and Tintin's large, expectant eyes, he began to turn away. "Wait, Captain. You have something on your cheek!"

"Where?"

He swiped at his cheek but Tintin shook his head. He swiped again. Tintin only clucked his tongue and moved until he was in front of the Captain. He leaned in close. Too close. So close that every other breath was cologne-soaked and Haddock didn't know where to put his hands. "Here," Tintin whispered, "let me." His thumb carved a path from the Captain's cheekbone to the edge of his mouth. He drew back, a piece of apple pie on his finger which he brought to his lips. Haddock could do nothing but watch as a pink tongue darted out to lick off apple pie and his heart began racing. _Don't mess this up_, his mind yelled at him. _This could be your last chance. Act normal. Do not-_

"Back then - a month ago - did you kiss me back?" Haddock blurted. Blue blistering barnacles! Tintin stilled, and if it weren't for the constant pitter-patter of rain, Haddock would've sworn time stilled with him. Then, movement. First Tintin's brows drew downward, his petal lips opening a few centimeters, then his eyes widened, his eyebrows lifting back up before falling to a slant. Then he smiled. A small, intimate smile. "Oh, Captain," he whispered, "whatever will I do with you?" And then he cupped the Captain's cheek, a fond light in his eyes and then he-

It must be the hunger. Yes, he had fainted from hunger this morning and became delusional again, or died tripping down the stairs and this was heaven. Tintin was returning the kiss. He could taste the ravioli and the sandwich and the muffins, feel the thin fabric of his button-down shirt under his fingertips, smell the cologne - and curse him - he wanted more. Always the greedy one, he was.

When the kiss ended; when Tintin leaned back, his arms resting on the Captain's shoulder, his cheeks rosy, he asked, "Does that answer your question, my dear captain?"

Haddock shook his head. His lips were burning, but it wasn't enough. "I need more. More proof. More-"

Tintin laid his forehead against the Captain's. "Anything you want, my captain," he promised, before leaning in again.

The two stayed under the tree long after the rain stopped, and by the day's end, Haddock had all the proof he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Notes:  
1) I wondered if a month was too short a time span for Haddock to start freaking out. With Tintin's job and Haddock having a sailor background, I feel like a month would be so short for them and they'd understand the troubles of communicating while traveling, but at the same I didn't want the non-communication to go on too long, or else Tintin would just look like a cad for not trying to communicate more, so a month it was.
> 
> That being said, I think if you kissed someone out of the blue and they didn't respond back to you in a month, understanding someone's work ethics/the struggles of travel or not, you'd be pretty freaked out too.
> 
> 2) I hope this doesn't come off as too OOC. I'm afraid I don't know much about Nestor besides him in the movies (of which he wasn't in a lot) and I wondered if I made Haddock too dramatic. /Shrugs
> 
> 3)as I said earlier, I will update The Interview eventually. Probably before New Years. If I don't, you're obligated to kick me.


End file.
